


What We Need

by Strawberry_Champagne



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Real World, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 01:50:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2251398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strawberry_Champagne/pseuds/Strawberry_Champagne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's enough that Yuri went along to the furniture store without (much) complaint; Flynn should really know better than to ask for his opinion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Need

In the first month of renting the new apartment, Flynn and Yuri slept on a futon mattress spread out in the center of the bare living room, a nest of blankets and pillows and long twin-sized sheets left over from their college dorm rooms. Early on a Friday afternoon, Yuri was seated there with a blanket half-slung over his lap, flipping channels on the small set that completed the entirety of their furnishings, when the door’s lock rattled and turned. Or at least, it did after a minute or two of resistance and under-breath mutterings from the other side.

Flynn glared at the now open door as if about to scold it for being uncooperative.

“We need to fix that,” he said. When Yuri didn’t respond, he turned to close the door and slide the lock back in place, letting his bag slip from his shoulder with a quiet sigh he probably wasn’t even aware of. There wasn’t anything good on T.V., or at least, there might have been, but Yuri was amusing himself with the snippets of dialogue taken out of context on each program as they flashed by.

Naturally, this drove Flynn crazy. But he was very good at pretending that it didn’t, unless you were Yuri and noticed that tiny twitch in his brow, the way he was trying very hard not to snatch the remote out of his hands. He’d abandoned any attempts to “reason” with him long ago, and Yuri let him watch entire programs as a compromise when it landed on something he was interested in. Usually.

Flynn settled on the edge of the futon, having removed his blazer and shiny black shoes that he often wore to his internship at the attorney’s office, hired for a gap year while he applied and saved for law school. As much as it amused him, Yuri clicked the T.V. off before Flynn could start twitching.

“So, did you sue anyone today?”

Flynn smiled weakly. “That wasn’t a very funny joke the first time you tried it, Yuri. It doesn’t improve with repetition.” He yawned, pulling part of the blanket over himself. It wasn’t late, of course, but he worked himself so hard that a nap right after work was practically mandatory.

“Anyway,” he continued sleepily, leaning against Yuri, “you know I mostly file paperwork and follow the lawyers around at this point. It isn’t very glamorous. But at least it’s a paid internship, so I’ll be bringing in some money.”

Yuri laughed, brushing fingers through Flynn’s bangs. “Oh, was that a shot? I’ll find a way to help out, too, don’t worry.”

Flynn peered up at him suspiciously. “For some reason that isn’t comforting. I hope that _I_ don’t have to remind you about staying on the right side of the law.”

It was said lightly, just a part of their banter. Yuri smiled with exaggerated innocence, prompting Flynn to roll his eyes as he slumped further down onto the futon. With the sun streaming in through the half-open blinds, it was easy for the blond’s lethargy to be contagious—Yuri curled around him, letting the comforting warmth of his body lull him to sleep.

* * * *

Between their nap and the next morning, there was dinner (made by Yuri, because the alternative was terrifying) and long, heated kisses that tasted like the wine that Estelle had given them as a graduation/housewarming present, a sweet, full-bodied red that made Yuri not mind quite so much that her family was outrageously wealthy. They woke in a familiar tangle of sheets and haphazardly positioned pillows—weekends were always nice because the rest of the week meant Flynn rising early, waking Yuri with a bubbling pot of coffee and a quick kiss on the cheek or forehead instead of getting to stretch languidly beside him, wrapped in blankets and not much else. Being with Yuri had taught Flynn to sleep in, to appreciate the feeling of not _having_ to bounce right up and start his daily routine. And really, the guy had to relax somewhere, or Yuri was pretty sure he was going to have a breakdown one of these days.

“Morning,” said Flynn, slightly muffled into a pillow. He was rolled onto his side facing Yuri, and laughed as Yuri snaked an arm around his waist with a lazy smirk.

“Not until I say it is.” He slid closer and intertwined his legs with Flynn’s, closing his eyes. “It’s still early.”

Flynn hummed softly, touching their foreheads together, but when Yuri cracked an eye open he noticed that the blond remained alert.

“We need more furniture,” Flynn finally said after a moment, in a matter-of-fact tone. “I mean…this barely counts.” He slid one hand from beneath the covers to indicate the futon. Yuri blinked, though he had been expecting as much for a while.

“I don’t know, Flynn. It’s kind of romantic, in a weird way. I like it.”

Flynn seemed to consider this, then shook his head. “I’ll admit that it has a certain coziness, but don’t you think a bed… a _real_ bed…could be just as good? We did alright back at college, and those beds were tiny.”

A grin spread across Yuri’s face. “Oh, we did more than alright.” He ducked as Flynn whacked him with a pillow, though it was somewhat disappointing to not see even a hint of red in his cheeks. He must have been starting to become immune to his innuendo. It was definitely time to work on new material, then.

Once Yuri had stopped laughing, Flynn returned to his argument. “Besides, doesn’t this thing hurt your back? Or your neck?”

“…no?”

“Well,” Flynn said with a sigh, “speak for yourself, I guess. But we’re not going to be twenty-one forever. It will catch up with us.”

“If you say so, old man.” This time Yuri put a hand out to block the pillow flying toward him, countering by flipping Flynn onto his back and capturing his lips. When he released him, panting, Yuri felt like he had won.

“Get dressed,” said Flynn, slightly flushed but blue eyes holding a stubborn look. “We’re going to the furniture store, _today_.”

* * * *

And that was how they ended up in the parking lot, Flynn taking the keys out of the ignition of a friend’s borrowed truck as Yuri unbuckled and hopped down from the passenger seat. He’d volunteered to drive, but Flynn reminded him that _he_ had personally promised to keep the vehicle safe and wasn’t about to subject it to Yuri’s speed demon ways. (Which Yuri, of course, strongly took issue with; no one bothered to pull you over until you were going at least 15 over the limit. If you stayed below the posted speed, like Flynn did, people were just going to pass you. It was his version of the channel flipping—annoying.)

The store was advertised as a showroom for surplus furniture from the manufacturers, significantly marked down but not used or damaged.

“I may have a certain amount in my savings and pretty good credit,” Flynn had said, “but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t cut corners where we can.”

It made sense, and Yuri didn’t have any objections. As long as the furniture didn’t look like something that belonged in his grandmother’s house, it really didn’t make much of a difference to him.

“Hello, sirs,” said a red-faced, balding man in a cheap suit, striding toward them with the practiced thousand-watt smile of a salesman. “Can I help you find anything today?”

As Flynn politely declined, explaining that they were just looking for the moment, Yuri breezed past him into the showroom. Phony people—like snobby rich people, another group he couldn’t stand. He slowed when joined by Flynn a moment later. The blond ran a hand along the fabric of a couch beside them, but by his quick frown didn’t seem to like what he found there.

“What are we looking for, exactly?”

The next couch was no good, either—on making contact with the arm, Flynn drew his fingers back and actually looked disgusted.

“Nothing like _this_. Who buys a couch that feels like a burlap sack? Ah, it should be comfortable of course. That’s the important thing. And a nice color.”

Yuri raised an eyebrow, mentally deciding that he’d leave that part up to Flynn. All of them looked about the same to him. A little ways down the row, a cream-colored couch—‘microfiber,’ the tag boasted—met with more approval. Flynn sank down into it and gestured for Yuri to join him.

“Much better,” he murmured, closing his eyes briefly. They flew open when Yuri tackled him to the cushions, pinning Flynn’s wrists at his side. He struggled back up, red and sputtering, ran fingers through his hair and glanced around the room, though the handful of other customers at the store so early in the morning didn’t seem to be paying them any attention.

Apparently satisfied that no one was scandalized by the display, he turned to glare at Yuri.

“What are you _doing_?”

“What? You’re supposed to test them out, right?”

“Yeah, by _sitting_ on them. Checking the cushions, making sure they’re soft or firm enough. That sort of thing. Not broadcasting our relationship to anyone that happens to walk by. I’m pretty sure that falls under something called ‘too much information.’”

Yuri snorted. “Flynn,” he said flatly, “we’re two guys shopping for furniture together. I don’t think anyone would be shocked to learn what we do behind closed doors.”

“It’s the _closed doors_ part that you seem to be forgetting.” Flynn huffed, and Yuri knew this wasn’t the last that he would hear of this. Shaking his head, Flynn pushed up off the couch before Yuri could blink. Okay, so maybe it had been a bit much. But he could fix this. Just like he knew what buttons to push to make the blond want to tear his hair out, Yuri was equally familiar with the things that could make him melt.

“I love you?” he ventured cheekily, hurrying to keep up with Flynn’s long strides as he walked away from him.

“Awww,” cooed a trio of girls standing nearby. From what Yuri could see of his face, Flynn couldn’t quite make up his mind between looking pleased and gritting his teeth with embarrassment. The former won out, this time.

“I know. You too,” he said softly. Flynn reached back and squeezed Yuri’s hand, the touch lingering for a few seconds before he let go. For him, that was about as close to initiating a public make-out session as it got, so the gesture made Yuri grin.

As he matched Flynn’s pace, Yuri decided it was safe to pick up where they had left off. “So, that couch felt pretty good. Think it’s the one?”

Flynn made a noncommittal sound, his mind somewhere else, eyes darting around the room.

“Or we could keep looking. Whatever.” Yuri shrugged loosely, digging his hands into his pockets as he peered at nearby furniture displays. They were set up like living rooms, a couch with matching loveseat and a coffee table. “This one looks okay. It’s that microfiber stuff, too.”

Again, it wasn’t like he really cared, but Flynn was slipping into one of his moods. Sometimes Yuri suspected that he had an internal monologue going in there, like some T.V. characters he’d seen. As the thought crossed his mind, he realized that Flynn had turned to look at the couch in question, and was now staring at Yuri as if he had grown another head.

“It’s coral,” he finally managed to say.

“Uh.” Flynn might as well have been speaking in a different language, as far as Yuri was concerned. “Is that bad?”

Still with the staring. Then Flynn let out a weary sigh, the one that usually had the word ‘idiot’ coded within it. “Honestly, Yuri. Sometimes I think the style fairy completely passed you over when they were handing out orientations.”

Yuri snorted, though he still didn’t understand what the big deal was. “Guess it’s a good thing I have you, then?”

This brought a small, affectionate smile to Flynn’s lips, so apparently it was the right thing to say. “Definitely. We’ll come back to the couches. Let’s try dining tables next; it’d be nice to have somewhere to eat besides standing at the counter or on the floor in front of the television.”

* * * *

What they ended up with, by the time lunch rolled around, was a black dinette set that Flynn declared “classy, but affordable” and, after more deliberation than Yuri felt necessary, the cream microfiber couch. He bit back a snarky comment about how it was funny that they didn’t even _look_ at any bedroom sets, considering that Flynn’s opinion of their current sleeping situation was what had driven them to the store in the first place. No need to start any arguments before they stopped to get something to eat, risking Flynn deciding to just keep driving despite the not-so-subtle rumble of both of their stomachs.

Anyway, they had both been ready to leave, and Yuri didn’t think they would be going back to that particular store. While they were making their purchases, it was impossible not to notice the increasingly strained smile of the salesman as he spoke with them, even more plastic than usual. Yuri had gotten pretty good at letting it roll off his back, but Flynn had thinner skin for all his outward confidence. People could be so…idiotic, sometimes. He watched Flynn carefully for signs of discomfort that only he would notice—the way he held himself more stiffly, the shift and tightening of his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Hey.”

Flynn’s eyes flicked over for a moment, still watching the road.

“Thai sound good?”

The obvious question—as if he’d turn down his favorite—was met with a snort and a flash of that brilliant grin that on first sight had probably marked the moment that Yuri started falling in love with him. And if the reason that Yuri made the suggestion was transparent, it really didn’t matter. Because even if other people didn’t always get it, they had little folded boxes of spicy food to take back to their apartment, and a table that Flynn would try to get Yuri to help set up that afternoon, and a couch where he would convince him otherwise. And when the stars came out, distant points of light winking between the half-closed blinds, neither of them would mind another night on the floor with a mess of blankets made beautiful because it was theirs, like a secret that no one else was meant to understand.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ writing journal, January 9, 2010.


End file.
